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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689208">💜Home Is Where The Heart Is🖤- A Kit Snicket x Count Olaf Fanfic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OdiousEye/pseuds/OdiousEye'>OdiousEye</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Mutual Pining, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:54:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,073</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OdiousEye/pseuds/OdiousEye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If home is where the heart is...perhaps...it has always belonged with her first...and most regrettably evil love...Count Olaf.  For there is nothing in this world quite as tempting and more as devilish than...old flames. It makes a mockery out of many good men and women and even for someone as intelligent and logical as Kit Snicket...in the company of Count Olaf...she finds herself enraptured. Because there are things more sweet and dangerous in this world...than a stolen sugar bowl. Which she is soon to find out in the hands of one odious man.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Count Olaf/Kit Snicket</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>💜Home Is Where The Heart Is🖤- A Kit Snicket x Count Olaf Fanfic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello I’m Odious or Eye whichever is easier. I couldn’t be fussed. This Fanfic was wrote to Moonlight Sonata- by Beethoven, which is also what Count Olaf is playing on the piano.</p><p>Where to start, perhaps..yes. This is a really bizarre fanfic. I wrote it in a insomniac induced sleepless episode after many nights of not sleeping in really one go.<br/>I wasn’t sure if it was going to be a one short or more. I also wrote it because I couldn’t find a fanfic between Kit and Olaf. I thought they deserved more pieces of writing.<br/>I was saddened with the ending of A Series Of Unfortunate Events (I watched the series with Neil Patrick Harris, which just convinced me I need to read the books) and did not enjoy the ending between Kit and Count Olaf. So I decided to write this..as some sort of a romantic ode.<br/>Comment if you enjoyed this strange fanfic. </p><p>In advance sorry for my Grammar mistakes or unedited parts. I’m not very good at that.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To Whom It May Concern- You stole my home and placed it in your heart, which is why I can never find peace.<br/>
- For Kit Snicket</p><p>Chapter 01 An Odious Fiend</p><p>Home is where the heart is, a most sentimental value that Kit Snicket scorned at, but the other definition was even worse. Home was where your loved ones waited for you and for Kit Snicket she doubted there was anyone else left to love.</p><p>She entered the old theatre building and was greeted with something most disturbing.  That haunting tone of music, that slightly off key piano, it rung out in the old auditorium like a ghost haunting all those that heard its somber tone. It sounded...unbearably lonely and inexplicable, indescribable. But only one person could play something so...quietly...it was like a mellow knife tearing at the wounds of her soul, playing along the conscience of all heard. </p><p>She passed by the old school theatre isles, it played like a memory...or rather a trace of a memory. One she would rather not remember, such a gentle melody. The sound of the auditorium almost a springs sigh...or a winter tear drop as she could almost hear the crowds gentle idle chatter in the rows but they were nothing but the wisp of a left over of a melody she once knew, a composition that played like a childhood music box as nastolgic as it was a painful reminder of days gone by. </p><p>She was sure she was hallucinating because she could almost imagine them all, the audience in their best wear, their spectacles glittering like a sea of diamonds as the women sparkled like gems. While the men stood still like tall stoic tree trunks as still as walls of wood. The charcoal burnt remains of the the stands which once held the elite and fashionable. The red of the velvet like freshly spilled wine or blood, and there as always. </p><p>With a spotlight shining on his lithe back...the man of the hour...of course...the centre of the schism sitting on a broken stool and playing the piano as though it was made just for him was the foul creature known as Count Olaf, maker of many nightmares and misery a most sinister creature. Who thought nothing of acts of cruelty as long as they were done as theatrical as possible.</p><p> She almost didn’t want to take another step. But fear...would not be her adversary tonight. Especially when she had a much greater enemy to baton down her most arduous nightmares...because the worse accompaniment than fear...was idle and sincere .....regret. That seemed to bind itself to her very core, poisoning any morality or choice, even halting the most greatest of conviction. Was the tainting of choices not made. </p><p>He didn’t even turn around. “Welcome Kit.”<br/>
Ahhh she thought to herself most reluctantly, trying to squeeze out the fear in her veins. So this was a trap that rumour of the sugar bowl being nearby nothing but a half hazard dream to pass her by. Like the promise of a pony named George when she was seven. She unclenches her hand and begged her heart to be stilled as she blinked looking at this ambiguous creature that lurked before her. </p><p>She stiffened, she could feel it all the way from the tips of her fingers to her toes. A voice that serenaded her youthful days of blissful ignorance and hope that there was good in the world. Had showered her many thoughts especially on nights when she could sparsely continue on in her adventurous endeavours, writing itself in her most secretive thoughts.<br/>
“...You dastardly foe...” She began. </p><p>“You flatter me!” His voice sounded cheerful but he didn’t turn around as the heels of her shoes pitter pattered on the unsteady stairs, each step projecting her towards him most regretfully so.<br/>
The voice belonging to the one and only, eccentric villain and heart of woe to many fateful innocence in the world, a bearer of ill will towards all that was righteous and good. She would not waver in the face of this adversary, who coloured her present, her past and her future. The most gruesome Count Olaf. A failing actor. </p><p>“You second rate theatric.” She was close enough she could smell him. He was like primroses and lavender. Charcoal...that wicked scent of charcoal which reminded her quite evidently about his past times. His hobbies...his unsavoury character yet again, like a rattlesnake warning it’s prey off...a ringing sign of danger. </p><p>He turned around this time his sharp nose pointing at her accusingly as he spun on his piano stool which wobbled. “Watch it Kit attack me but never my theatrics.” His finger pointed towards her sharply. </p><p>“Or what Olaf? Are you going to sing me a musical?” She was face to face with him now, she wasn’t going to run along. This was something she needed to face, the emotion of it overwhelming. He was...marvellous..Like scaling a waterfall as the current beats down on you she was almost blinded by his presence. She looked away hoping to ground herself against this wave of newfound emotion. Have you ever lost something so precious, for example a ring from a childhood sweetheart, only to be left betrayed by such innocent love. </p><p>The meaning of the ring would change, curl in ones gut like an array of butterflies...perhaps you should find yourself no longer looking for that ring. Perhaps because it stirred unwanted memories and emotions so you’ve so desperately hidden, that they could be sunken to the bottom of the endless sea with all your desire to rid yourself of them. No I doubt you’d want to find that ring. In fact..No more than Kit Snicket wanted to look Count Olaf in the face. </p><p>He gasped dramatically turning around to continue playing the piano, much to her relief.  “You wound me Kit, you wound me greatly, my heart could pour out of my chest and spill onto this very stage...like...like a very gooey cup of pudding.” He clutched his hand to his chest dramatically, as though her very words were quite a deal painful. </p><p>“You don’t eat pudding.” She spoke, remembering vast picnics in which he denied countless cups of pudding from memory he had said they were too pudding like. Which had been a fair assumption. </p><p>He paused his fingers no longer playing the piano, but the music seemed to continue from the old piano, repeating those awful notes again and again like a record player. She was closer now to him, she found herself closing in. Closer than she had ever dared in years. She could almost reach out and touch him, but...that was not on the agenda today.</p><p>“Why play a piano that can play itself Olaf?” She asked quietly hoping to unseat herself from the unsteady rhythm of her heart, which seemed to yearn quite so desperately for a singular glance at the odious foe of hers and her brothers enemy. </p><p>“Your straight forward analysis, your logical denial of all dilutions of grandeur and romance. My Kit, I’ve missed you.” His voice trembled like the strings on a violin vibrating, she could almost see the tremble of his back.</p><p>“I’m not yours Olaf.”<br/>
“Uh but with the promise of something tempting, perhaps you might be, we should remedy such an idiots mistake don’t you agree?” She tensed...what could he possibly have...it couldn’t be..<br/>
“The sugar bowl?...” She spoke so softly it could be mistaken for a whisper. </p><p>“Sweeter. The gentle embrace of a lost love, the dastardly confessions of one devilishly handsome actor to one, moderately Aphrodite appearing muse..” He stood up so violently the stool he sat on toppled over, crashing to the floor in a flurry of emotions he spun to look at her. She could feel his eyes on her. “Dance with me Kit.”</p><p>“I would prefer the sugar bowl.” She wanted to step back. Have the darkness of the night hide her in its veil of ambiguity, anything than to be on this stage...in this mad mans presence. She counted the loose threads on his shirt. The goosebumps on his skin. </p><p>“Come now...it’s impolite to deny a actors request, in front of an audience.”<br/>
His gloved hand held appeared aloft to her...obscuring her view, a villainous treacherous man. As brilliant as he was quite insidious. A dangerous mix or candy and iodine. As tempting as he was filled with deceit. Like being offered a whole bag of sweets only to find they were liquorice her least favourite treat the promise of such disappointment and Olaf...like a whole bag of liquorice would only lead to sore regret and a bitter after taste. </p><p>“Come, for old times sake.” Then for the first time Kit Snicket was brave enough to look up. But his expression was nowhere near the face of a murderer...or the horrid mask of deception and villainous acts...his face not hardened with hate but as soft as silk and serene as back then, but his face was aged with something....regretful, lined with the markers of time, the recollection of unsaid horrors like the bookmarks in a tale of grim fairy tales. Each painted across his face like a painful reminder. </p><p>His eyes but two dots of sadness on his face no matter how briefly she had looked at him before looking away. “N-No.” She could not for sanities sake, this was wrong.<br/>
“Please.” That one word...was....agony. Please, she had never heard that phrase uttered from his lips. It was....sheer....torture. As though he had pushed a needle into her. Uncoiling her, unraveling her like a ball of wool, pulling apart her walls. Oh she could never resist such blatant display...of...vulnerability. </p><p>She found her hand out stretching towards him, unconsciously but just as she thought to question her own choices. His hand grasped hers quite tightly the softness of his gloves like velveteen not allowing escape on her part. His fingers wrapping around hers as though she would slip away from him like fairy dust under the pale moonlight. </p><p>Like the flow of a river it seemed almost natural for her hand to be seated in his. Like they were made to fit like two identical pieces of a puzzle realigned to create something...so..very correct even though the image was so very wrong. Like two people on opposite sides of a schism that happened to fit each other in every way. It was like she had been dunked underwater, sinking underneath a glacier of doubt. </p><p>Kit Snicket had thought herself a practical woman that didn’t adhere to gestures of whimsy and fancy...she thought was taught better than to gorge on her own greedy thoughts on fantastical thoughts of nastolgia and the heart ache of sorrowful and untimely goodbyes. But in the presence of Olaf...she was no more than a woman enraptured by him as she was on the first day he had stolen her heart. </p><p>“Count Olaf..” She began scolding her own ridiculous notions of days gone by, drifting on the wind of times that would not come back to her, of once beens, and has been and could have been. No those were... faded memories to stir her in self pity on lonely nights.<br/>
“Just Olaf Kit..for you, just Olaf.” She felt a tightness in her chest...only she was ever allowed the graciousness of calling him Olaf..he had insisted back then...all those years ago.<br/>
“Stop this ridiculousness..O-Olaf.” She had to put a stop to this immeasurable silliness. They were not two lovesick fools at the opera. </p><p>“Ahh but I have always been somewhat ridiculous, you liked that once.” His hand seemed to drag her to him, like the tides she was drawn no more able to stop herself from closing the distance than she could throw a rope around the moon and lasso it down. Or shatter it on the beaches of a sandy shore. Fracturing it like her ideals which seemed to splinter into a million pieces they could be passed through the eye of a needle. </p><p>Her head pressed into his chest, his breath so soft and uneven as though a bird resided in his chest, flitting about and fidgeting in the confines of something so tightly compressed as his ribs when he Intook the quaintness of breaths. The soft caress of his sordid exchange like the touches of a silken hair on top of her waves of brown unruly locks. Her own breathing had slowed down to almost non existent. The safety of that firm chest, a gentle reminder of kinder times. Like the rocking of a wooden boat in a vast and terrifying storm which threatened to over throw them both. </p><p>She could almost revisit them if she dared close her eyes. They were like the beginning of a chapter in her very favourite book.<br/>
“Once...when you were a different man.”<br/>
“Should you like to find out how different? You always said. A man was nothing but the colour of his tie and the prep in his step “...Shall I...tempt you?”</p><p>Her eyes met his and much to her disgrace he was just....as beautiful as he had been back then, aged by no more did his eyes dull from lack of charm or intelligence but rather like the beady eyes of a crow they promised something so very dangerous. As though he had asked her to walk across a tight rope a thousand metres beyond sea level than a simple dance. She was almost afraid of the silent promise than rung there. It almost took her breath away, as though she was a top the tallest mountain in the world. </p><p>“Come now Kit...my dear.” He bent down his lips pressed so heatedly against her skin as though he was trying to brand himself on her hands. It was such a sickeningly sweet gesture of his. Those lips that had spouted lies with those hands that had cruelty been used to orchestrate the passing of many innocence. </p><p>The same hands that held her own as though she herself was the confines of a delicate sugar bowl on the cusp of failing apart and shattering on the stage of either of their lives. Gentle, delicate, precious those words seem to roll around in her head as though it was filled with the delicate grains of sugary sweet crystallised indecency. </p><p>“Won’t you humour a foolish old man?” His eyes almost begging for forgiveness, if eyes were the window to the soul his was well and truly filled with nothing but her in the reflection of his iris’s. The apple of his eye truly. The very bleeding of his heart. The coffee coloured hues of his pupils dilating in her presence as though they were trying to suck her in, those two black pits like wells threatening to overcome her common sense and moral compass. Magnetising her towards him. She could find no answer than agreement,  if only out of pure curiosity. </p><p>His smile if anything to go by was very much like a cat that had gotten a life time supply of cream. As though she had given him a fortunes worth of gems and crystals or agreed to marriage and not a simple dance on an empty stage in a abandoned and half burnt down theatre. Though understanding a man like Olaf was well beyond most people. He was as simple as he was complex. </p><p>A true cocktail of dire and inconsequential, understanding as he was cruel...night and day.....a contradictory that seemed to make perfect sense to Kit Snicket. Truly love was madness. She found herself gathered against him, chest to chest. Buttoned up sweater to ruffled Victorian shirt. Two souls...briefly connected through all of time and space to find each other it...was almost too...cruel. </p><p>Her hand on his shoulder, his frame thinner than before more like the thin arm of a rocking chair than the once sturdy bow of a ship that lead her on many most grand adventures. But no less was his hold on her waist strong and reassuring anchoring her, as though he was steering her like the wheel of a ship through a tide that neither  of them could control...but far now...they were sailing...in those inky oceans of uncertainty and she had never felt more...safe as they glided across the ruins of the stage in time with the sound of the piano in the background. </p><p>Her eyes focused on the hollow of his collar bone, the dip of sweat that seemed to settle their caught her attention it seated in the sharp collar bone like a jewel imprinted on his skin. It was both a distraction and a relief. </p><p>“Kit won’t you ...look at  me?” The way his throat bobbed was tantalising, both revolting to her and...so very attractive she wanted to trace the lines of his throat with her fingers, to both squeeze around those strong columns and to kiss away the strain and soreness of it. Mark herself on him as he had marked her. But that of course was also an excuse.<br/>
“I-I can’t...”</p><p>“My dearest...I beseech you.”<br/>
Olaf’s proud brow...she could almost feel it was stricken with despair, as though she had reached into his chest and unwound the chords of his heart, plucking them like the strings of a harp, his hopelessness like an abandoned piano left to rot. She allowed her gaze to hover before sliding up to see something so shocking she was unsure if this was a trick played on her for having too many sleepless nights. He was looking at her...truly looking at her. </p><p>His face sharper and more tentative as though someone had carved out the joy from his face and the sharp wit jovial nature of his smile. The corners of his lips dipping into the slightest of bows but never the less lacking the usual mischief...as though they were complacent place holders on his face, no more important than stray stop signs abandoned at a shipping yard. Unimportant in their own role...as though a thief had taken away....the sheer act of smiling and left behind a false impression. “Oh Olaf....my Olaf....what has this world done to you?”</p><p>Her hand gently let go of his hand to find itself against his sharp cheek, settling in the hollows of his face. He closed his eyes fluttering them shut like the closing of a curtains after a last performance and when he opened them....it was her Olaf. </p><p>Equal parts melancholy as he was grateful, he blinked his eyelids so heavy...with what she hoped to lessen because it was almost...too painful. Almost shakily, almost incapable a hand placed over hers. Thin fingers, much too...brittle, much too weak..as though she was like a wrecking ball on his existence. He looked at her with so much pain, it swirled like the ice cream in a root beer float, swallowing all sense of sensibility and leaving behind only a torrid of emotion. As he swayed with her gently. </p><p>He was truly the sad clown Pierrot and with his eyes on her she was surely his Columbine in their mad dance for two. Oh her poor foolish Pierrot, but she also felt but a simple fool in his grasp to want and be wanted, to deny and inexplicably desire beyond confounded need. It was...truly madness, to repeat an action and expect difference the very definition of insanity...but how she wanted to Waltz amongst the field of the insane if it meant..her once Olaf would be next to her. </p><p>Others paled in comparison...to this ridiculous mad man...yet she was caught like a dew drop in the first spring chasing away the winters coldness to splinter like diamonds on the relentless merciless floor. To pull away was like to deny the centre of gravity, she was afraid if he let go she would just float off. Hover over the clouds and fall into that black abbys that was endless seas of nothingness, lost forever drifting into the unknown of...insecurity and not knowing as it swallowed her, what a cruel fate not understanding was and even in his arms...she felt as though...she understood...even less..ignorance...at last might beat her. </p><p>Because in those eyes that seemed to leak misery and desire....she saw....undeniable...love. What a frightening thing that was.<br/>
For years to pass like the unwinding of a clock and still see something...so deftly familiar, she was certain if his sturdy arms was not around her she would melt into the floorboards..</p><p>As they waltzed gliding like mist across the floor, he manoeuvred around the wooden floorboards as though he knew every creak and rotten boards as though he’d done this a thousand times with or without her. Deftly defying the ruined planks as he easily made his way about and she...trusted him completely in this one blissful moment. </p><p>Two clowns...the butt of a vicious joke...called fate. Pulled away from each other like polar opposites. Without their awareness or choice...how she missed him. </p><p>“The world has turned...on its head...and you are still here with me.” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mon Amour” The familiar turn of phrase making something dully ache In her chest. Back then he could never get it right it was the first French she had ever taught him. For all those years...he could never pronounce it right. It was almost like a love letter between them an inside joke, an ode to more innocent times and he had...remembered. Her last sense of caution flew away through the night like nightingales. Singing sad tunes. </p><p>Just as he had remembered her. Words, unsung words that didn’t need to be spoken...those lips that uttered such sweet sinful words to her pursed together so tightly as though he was trying not to let slip secrets he could not contain. Oh how she wanted to devour those secrets from those lips pressed like the vault of a door. </p><p>She could ask him many things right now, too many things. So many a list of a thousand questions could not compile the unadulterated feelings which threatened to consume her a thousand times over. So she settled with something equally as fluent in communicating the soft...of words. A kiss. </p><p>She leaned on her tippy toes, to match his height and she swore she could hear a sharp intake of breath like the nervousness of a bride before their wedding as her lips so gently, like the wings of a butterfly...press against his. </p><p>Oh sweet divine maker, he was...everything...his soft lips...which were so gentle on her own, the dryness of his mouth which seemed to permanently frown how she had dreamed of kissing away...those doubts of his, to soften the world which beat down on his back. He tasted like....cheap wine, mint juleps and and everlasting flavour of...salty tears. But underneath...was her Olaf. As sweet as he had always been tinged with sadness but never the less all hers. </p><p>As she kissed open his mouth, wetting his lips with her own. Hoping he understood the words of her heart, of her needs, of how she...thought only of him all these years. Her hands moved to thread into the silvery moonlight of his hair. Gripping at him like he was made of dreams...threatening to break underneath her like waves on a shoreline. </p><p>He stiffened like an ironing board.</p><p>As though he had been tossed in shark infested waters and given nothing to keep him afloat. For a second she was scared she had done something in her experience she rarely did. Which was misread the situation. But much to her almost potent relief...the world felt like it had stopped turning as he....embraced her with nothing but the barest whispers of her name on his tongue. “Kit...My Kit, welcome home.” </p><p>Their kiss that night, on a lonesome stage in a decrepit burnt down theatre...tasted a little like tears.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Count Olaf..was a terrifying but amazing villain and Kit was inspiring.<br/>Thank you for taking the time to read this Fanfic. Comments and Kudos are always welcome. Also, query do you think I should keep this as a one short or write another chapter?  Comment your opinion.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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